


What if Tomorrow Comes?

by coldairballoons



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, One Shot Collection, Transferred from Tumblr, Villains. Kinda Hot., innuendos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25420744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldairballoons/pseuds/coldairballoons
Summary: A collection of one shots, tags will be updated with each new chapter!
Relationships: Eddie Dantes/H.G. Wells, Ernest Hemingway/H.G. Wells, H.G. Wells/Lenore
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Wellenore

It was raining that evening, and Lenore was bored out of her mind. More of Edgar’s “author” “friends” had arrived that night, and she was, in all honesty, sick of it. She didn’t get it, the whole writing… thing. Being dead, she got. But writing? That was confusing.

Social butterfly Lenore quickly became hide-time Lenore, and she made her way up to the attic (it was her jam, after all) where she was… suddenly startled by a certain inventor, reading on the couch.

“HG?” She called, and he jumped, looking over his shoulder. His goggles were beginning to fall down his forehead, which Lenore laughed at a little bit. 

“Lenore?” HG grinned, waving her over. “Hello! You’re hiding as well, I presume?”

“Uh…” Lenore looked around at the clutter of the attic. When was the last time she’d cleaned the place…? “Yep.”

He laughed a little bit, scooting over on the couch to make room for Lenore. “You always seemed the type to prefer to be at parties, is there any reason you’re not… down there? ...Partying?”

He made a weak attempt at jazz hands, which Lenore laughed at a bit, sitting next to him. “No, not a reason…”

“...you feel out of place, down there?” HG said softly, looking at her. A knowing look was in every bit of his face and it made something in Lenore’s chest start to swell. She looked away, and HG smiled. “I thought so.”

“They’re all so… talented.” Lenore said, clasping her hands in her lap. “I’m just me. A ghost. I can’t write like they can. Plus, they’re your friends, too! Shouldn’t you be with them?”

“I’d rather just hang out with you, if I’m honest” HG replied, smiling at her. “You’re far more interesting. Clever, funny, beautiful…”

Lenore paused, looking to him. A smirk played upon her lips. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“I… what I meant to say was…”

“Oh, shush, you.” She rolled her eyes, reaching her hand out to him ever so slightly, hoping he got the hint. “I think you’re beautiful too, HG.”

The inventor swallowed, watching her face carefully, as though examining something delicate, like one of his machines. But Lenore rolled her eyes once more, turning to him. “Kiss me, Goggles?”

That, he could do, and HG smiled, closing the gap between them. “As you wish.”


	2. Hemingwells

HG Wells was a busy, busy man. Always darting from one task to the other with seemingly no pause for a breath. Working night and day, so much so that a certain author started to take note of his constant hustle.

“Wells, Wells, Wells.” Ernest called, walking into the attic, full of wires and spare scraps of metal and various other… bits and pieces that he probably shouldn’t touch. “What’s keeping you so busy?”

The inventor poked his head over a machine that probably wasn’t supposed to be puffing out that much dark soot, pulling his goggles over his forehead and wiping the sweat off his brow. “This is… hang on, no…” He gestured to the bottle of whiskey in Ernest’s hand. “Leave that there. It could spill.”

“Wow, obsessive much?” He rolled his eyes, but put the bottle down on a precarious stack of books. “What’re you doing?” 

HG rolled his eyes in return, gesturing to the machine. “It’s a theoretical device that would… in theory, of course, allow the user to rid an area of dust. It’s incredibly efficient, it uses a vacuuming, suction-like force in order to--”

“Do you always look this sexy while rambling, or is that just the alcohol?” Ernest interrupted him, grinning at the bewildered look that crossed the inventor’s face. “What?”

“You… can’t just… say that!” HG spluttered, but Ernest raised an eyebrow. 

“And why can’t I?” He retorted, to which HG just gapes, trying to come up with words. He opens his mouth a few times, then shuts it, almost indignantly. 

With an exasperated glance to the sky, then to his machine, then back at Ernest, HG finally found words. “You’ve finally rendered me speechless, Hemingway.” He said softly, giving a small, lopsided smile. “Proud of you for that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ernest rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “Can I kiss you, or what…?”

“A romantic.” HG chuckled, then moved some of the bits and pieces of the machine out of the way to stand, dusting off his slacks, meeting Ernest halfway when he pulled the inventor into a deep kiss, messy, Ernest’s hands carding through his hair in a way that wasn’t at all unpleasant.

They pulled away after a few moments, HG breathing heavily, shakily. “Was that…?”

“Yeah.” Ernest whispered, then pulled him back in by the tie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was for atlas-spaceboy on tumblr! I love you!


	3. Dantells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I have far too many ideas, this was based off of an original idea I had written. 
> 
> This is a very strange thing, be warned, there's the almost... romanticism of violence and murder? Except not really? It's weird I can't explain it, anyways, have a little snippet of a thing that I will not work any further on.

“If you want me,” H.G. panted, wiping his hand over his forehead, “come and get me.”

Eddie paused, languidly sweeping a hand up and under the inventor's chin. “Want you in which way, darling? Don’t get me wrong, both involve ropes, but it’s an important distinction to make before we proceed.”

H.G. flinched back, looking away, with wide eyes full of panic. “Why would you… even suggest that?” He weakly asked, and the other man laughed a little bit, moving his hand away from H.G.'s face.

“It got a reaction out of you, did it not?” He twirled a strand of H.G.’s hair between his fingers, and the inventor shivered at the touch. “Look at you. So… vulnerable. I could cut here,” he dropped his hand to brush his fingertips over his neck. “Right at this artery. You’d be dead before you hit the ground.”

“Or maybe here.” He hummed, trailing his hand up the inventor’s face to brush over his eyelids, which fluttered shut beneath Eddie's touch. “A blunt object would do nicely.”

“You’re sick.” H.G. hissed, but his voice said otherwise--breathy, soft, weak. “You’re… absolutely sick.”

Eddie laughed softly, taking his chin again and tilting his head up. He brushed his thumb over H.G.’s lips, which parted slightly, with a grin from the banker. “But you’re so beautiful, so weak under me.”


End file.
